


Disappointment

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley, M/M, Other, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:03:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: After Armageddidn't, Aziraphale and Crowley make a breakthrough in their relationship.Crowley doesn't trust it in the slightest.





	Disappointment

Crowley was very used to being a disappointment. It wasn't that he  _ liked  _ to disappoint people, as such, but he had to admit that he was pretty good at it. He had disappointed Heaven by not being Good enough, and then he'd disappointed Hell with his complex system of microtransgressions. He'd disappointed himself on numerous occasions, and most frustratingly of all he'd disappointed Aziraphale. He'd just never  _ felt  _ Aziraphale's disappointment quite as keenly as he did now.

After the world hadn't ended - disappointing a surprising number of people on both sides - Aziraphale had finally realised what Crowley had thought had been obvious for millennia.

"Crowley. You  _ love  _ me."

"More than anything. Let's not go on about it." And Crowley had wrapped his own disappointment around him like a cloak, had begun to stalk off further around the park, hoping that by the time they reached their usual bench it could all be forgotten. Of course, Aziraphale would never allow that. They settled, side by side, as usual, and then the angel slipped his hand into the demon's.

"I love you, too."

It had changed everything, and yet it had changed very little. Crowley hadn't expected to have such a visceral physical - or rather, metaphysical - reaction to hearing those words, and yet the moment they were spoken his heart swelled and his wings unfurled, very nearly entering the physical plane where mortals could see them. Aziraphale's brief look of alarm quickly melted into serene appreciation as he ran his eyes over the dark feathers, no doubt imagining what they'd looked like before he Fell. Oh, they had been majestic - Aziraphale spread his own wings, too, as if to emphasise what Crowley had lost, and Crowley fixed his eyes on his angel's face, instead.

"Well, then. We love each other. More than anything," Aziraphale added, as if to make sure they were even. "Er… What do we do about it?"

There was really nothing  _ to  _ do; they'd been in love for millennia of meetings, and walks, and lunch dates, and tipsy nights in. Nothing needed to change, really, to express their feelings. But they had been among mortals a long time now, and they'd picked up on a few ways they could express their love.

"Crowley, I could kiss you," Aziraphale had exclaimed, three days after The Conversation, as Crowley successfully located an improperly-shelved book the angel had spent weeks looking for. His face changed, suddenly, and Crowley struggled to read the expression, afraid his angel was about to scold him for having moved the book in the first place, which he had. "Oh. I say. I really could, couldn't I?"

"...Yeah," Crowley had told him, trying to sound nonchalant. "You could do that." And Aziraphale had, and Crowley had reciprocated, and it had turned into a very pleasant afternoon.

They'd ended up curled together on the sofa in the back room of the shop, Crowley's head cushioned on Aziraphale's knee.

"The mortals," Aziraphale told him delicately, hands running through Crowley's hair, "like to touch the people they love."

"We are touching." Crowley felt as though he could fall asleep right there, like a cat being petted in the sun.

"I meant, er, they touch in private places. I, er, I wanted to ask-"

"Yes?" He hadn't expected Aziraphale to go there, especially so soon after the realisation that they were both in love with each other. To be honest, he hadn't had time to work out how he felt about that sort of thing.  _ You go too fast for me, angel.  _ The irony would have amused him, if he wasn't so afraid that he was about to disappoint Aziraphale again.

"I wanted to ask if I could touch your wings."

It caught him off-guard; perhaps that was why he nodded and, after a moment's mutual contemplation of the logistics, followed Aziraphale up the stairs to a bedroom he wasn't entirely sure had existed before. Regardless of what it had previously been - nobody ever cared what you had previously been, when it came right down to it - it was now a cosy room with a double bed in the centre and just enough room to spread a wing out on either side if you lay in the middle of said bed. Aziraphale plumped himself down on it and gestured for Crowley to join him, so Crowley did and, after a moment, allowed his wings to manifest themselves fully.

"I can touch them?" The expression of glee on his angel's face almost made him fold them away again, but he nodded - and gasped at the unfamiliar sensation as Aziraphale's clever fingers set to work. He wasn't the only one to have to catch his breath at the first brush of feather and finger. "They're soft."

Crowley meant to make some sort of cutting remark, a retort so scorching that Aziraphale would drop him as if burned and never raise the subject of his wings again. What actually came out, to his frustration, was a helpless sort of moan. It had been a long time since anyone had touched his wings, let alone with such tenderness.

"So soft," Aziraphale repeated, "I half expected them to be armoured, somehow. Or scaly."

"Sorry to disappoint," Crowley croaked, and his angel gave him a Look so tender that he had to turn his face away, burying it in the mattress. Aziraphale scoffed quietly and went on inspecting every last feather with gently questing fingertips.

It was obvious what he was doing, of course, even if Crowley was too distracted by Aziraphale's heavenly touch to realise it at first. As days and weeks passed, though, and Aziraphale kept asking to get his hands on Crowley's blackened feathers, he knew the angel was searching for any hint of white beneath the darkness. Any sign that there was still some hint of Heaven in Crowley, that Aziraphale wasn't locked in a dalliance with an irredeemable demon, that Crowley was anything less foul than a temptation from Hell itself. And Crowley was flattered to be a temptation at all, he really was, but every time his angel's hands stilled he found himself holding his breath, hoping that Aziraphale had found a white feather. Hoping that this time, somehow, he would be worthy of his angel's touch. And every time, he heard the angel sigh and pretended to be asleep so he wouldn't have to face the disappointment in those eyes he was so fond of.

It had been going on for a month before Aziraphale gave up.

"Crowley. I wondered if, ah… that is, if you wouldn't mind… and by all means say no, only…"

"Spit it out, angel."  _ Love is patient,  _ said the preachers;  _ Crowley isn't,  _ they might have added, if they'd known anything about it.

"Would you have a go at my wings for me? They feel a little stiff. And I'm certain I have feathers sticking out at odd angles." He'd smiled hopefully, hesitantly, and Crowley had never had any chance of resisting.

"I'll have a look, yeah."

He was already tracing the line of Aziraphale's radius through the feathers when it struck him. Aziraphale had said his wings felt uncomfortable and disordered. He was asking Crowley to check them over. Having found no trace of Heavenly goodness left in Crowley, he was now asking the demon to check his wings for signs of corruption, or contamination. Was being so close to Crowley enough to make him Fall?

Crowley got lost in the fear for only a moment before pulling himself together and, starting at one shoulder and working outwards, set about checking for any hint of grey. Aziraphale must be truly anxious; he whimpered and shivered and, at one point, made a noise that sounded almost like a sob. Crowley was all the more thorough for that, though he couldn't resist dropping a kiss into his angel's hair before returning to his examination of the long, white primary feathers he was working on.

At last, he was satisfied, and crashed to the mattress beside Aziraphale.

"There. And not a hint of anything untoward. Feel better?"

"Mm, much. Thank you, Crowley. Would you like me to-?"

"No." He couldn't face disappointing his angel again, not when he looked so content in the knowledge that he was safe. "No, better not. Get some rest, hm?"

"Yes. Well, I can quite see why you fall asleep. I feel quite boneless."

"I'll leave you to it," Crowley offered, but Aziraphale had already thrown one heavy wing over him and was snoring softly. Crowley gave up and slept too.

When they woke, they went on for a few days as if they'd never touched one another's wings. Crowley asked, of course, whether Aziraphale had felt anything strange in his own wings, or any unusual heat or vertigo that might indicate a Fall, but the angel simply looked at him with a sort of fond exasperation, as if he couldn't imagine what was going through Crowley's mind - but then maybe he really couldn't. Aziraphale had never Fallen, and as much as Crowley told everyone- even himself - that he hadn't either, the truth was that there was no  _ sauntering vaguely downwards _ when it came to becoming a demon. It might start gradually, but in the end, when you'd gone too far, there was always a Fall. By the time your wings started changing, it was too late. But it was possible Aziraphale really didn't recognise the earliest signs of his own impending descent.

Crowley had a vague notion that he should have been thrilled to tempt an angel, a Principality no less, from Heaven's side. He had certainly done that; they had only their own side now. But that didn't mean he wanted Aziraphale to  _ Fall _ . Falling was torturous; flaming wings and plummeting downwards and then there was Hell - Aziraphale wouldn't like Hell - the thought of his angel going through all that made Crowley want to be sick. He couldn't let it happen.

It was playing on his mind, worry churning his stomach, when Aziraphale suddenly turned to him with a searching look.

"Crowley, my dear, are you alright?"

"Fine," Crowley told him, and although he didn't generally lie to Aziraphale it didn't really count as a lie, did it, when Aziraphale was the one in danger?

"Hm. Well, you look as though somebody's ruffled your feathers. May I smooth them out a little?" His angel was beaming, apparently delighted with his own wordplay, and he looked so pure and angelic that Crowley just couldn't  _ bear  _ it, knowing all of that could be destroyed by his touching Crowley too often, too fondly. He couldn't stand to see that smile twist into disappointment as, once again, Crowley failed to be more than he was.

"Just give it up, will you?" His angel looked completely taken aback, confused and perhaps even a little hurt, but now Crowley had snapped he couldn't seem to stop. "You're not going to find what you're looking for, not in  _ my _ wings. I'm not going to Rise. I can't, and if I could I wouldn't want to, and I can't stand disappointing you like that every night!"

"Disappointing? What-?"

"I know what you're doing, checking every last feather to see if there's any white in there, and I let you because your hands are soft and warm and I liked it. But you're not going to find white feathers on me, and I don't want to turn yours black, so let's just stop-"

He did stop, because Aziraphale had gone through a series of entertaining facial expressions and then decided to muffle his own laughter -  _ there was nothing funny about Falling -  _ against Crowley's lips. Crowley didn't feel very listened to, but it was hard to focus on that when Aziraphale had his arms wrapped so tight around him and his tongue - oh, Somebody, his tongue - in Crowley's sinful, undeserving mouth. When they broke apart at last, Aziraphale still had laughter in his eyes.

"You could never disappoint me, my dear. I was never looking for anything in your wings - well, nothing except the noises you make when I touch them. That look on your face as you melt under my touch. I was preening you, Crowley, that's all, because I  _ love _ you. What on Earth makes you think I want you in Heaven?"

Crowley gaped at him for a moment, his jaw working soundlessly until he finally managed a vowel. 

"I- but- then- but you had me check yours, I thought you were Falling-"

"I fell in love with you centuries ago. I stopped trying to hide it  _ weeks _ ago. Don't you think if the Almighty had a problem with that, we'd know by now?"

"But you had me check-"

Aziraphale was wearing one of his most patient, beatific expressions now, making it hard to think. "No, Crowley. I asked you to touch my wings, and - well, you reduced me to a contented puddle of angel, the way I've been doing to you for weeks. I just wanted a turn."

"So… you're not worried?"

"We are an angel and a demon, my dear, and we have been since the Beginning. Why would I ever want to change that?"

Crowley must have spectacularly failed to respond to that, because the next thing he knew, Aziraphale had unfurled his wings and wrapped Crowley up in them.

"I'm an idiot," the demon realised, after several seconds of watching his angel's feathers to make sure they didn't turn even slightly grey as a result of having him near them.

"Yes, you are. My idiot." Aziraphale chuckled fondly, "so can I touch your wings now?"

"Not yet," Crowley told him, still wrapped in that vast expanse of soft, white...  _ softness _ . "I think first I should really get to know yours."

"Well. If you insist." And, looking at Aziraphale's smiling face, Crowley really did insist.

"You won't be disappointed."


End file.
